The Revenge of Hannah Abbott
by DreamsAreMyWords
Summary: Hannah has just been told that her mother has died. Now, she has to take matters against Voldemort into her own hands... Probably just a one-shot.


Starlight flickered in through the window of one of the topmost towers in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It poured through the chink in the heavy red curtains, bathing the right half of the room in a pale gleam. Hannah watched how it turned the slender curve of her forearm into snow-white marble. She felt like marble, and knew she acted the part of it. For the better part of an hour, she'd sat stiff and unmoving in the chair before the Headmaster's desk. Sixty minutes, and she was still in shock.

The Headmaster was waiting patiently; he told her he'd give her all the time she needed to process. But she wasn't processing. It was too surreal. _This was a dream. Surely, it was all a dream._

Finally, after seventy-two minutes had passed, Professor Dumbledore spoke up. "Miss Abbott," he said gently, "I understand that you were close to your mother."

_Close?_ she thought numbly. She'd_ worshipped_ her mother. Her mother was the best witch in the entire wizarding world. She couldn't have died, just like that. Perhaps she'd made it out. Maybe she'd fled for safety, apparated to the Ministry-

"Your mother will not be returning."

Hannah's head snapped up, yanking her out of her desperate hopes. Professor Dumbledore's head was slightly tilted down as he observed her over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. Her heart made a painful thump in her chest as she noted the solemness in his piercing blue eyes. He was right. Albus Dumbledore was always right, her mother had told her. It was the first time she fervently wished her mother was wrong.

"I am truly sorry, Miss Abbott," said Dumbledore softly. "Losing a parent is never an easy thing, nor should it be. However, we must remember how we lost them, and take the necessary precautions." He leaned forward, his gaze on her intensifying, and she jolted a little when she moved back in response. She hadn't moved in a long time. She hadn't thought she'd be able to again.

"Lord Voldemort killed your mother."

She really jolted this time, very nearly right out of her seat. Feeling faint, she clutched the armrests of the comfortable chintz chair and sat stiff as a board, dreading the Headmaster's words but unable to block them out. "You must accept that. He has returned, and he will continue killing until we stop him. But to do that, we need to understand. Trust few, and help many."

She blinked at the words. Already, very little was making sense in her nullified mind. Now he was giving her mysterious riddles to solve. She couldn't handle this right now.

"You _can_ handle this," said Dumbledore sternly. She stared at him, wide-eyed. She'd always had the impression that the Headmaster could read minds, but...she'd never had it happen personally to her. In fact, in all five years of attending school, this was the first time she'd ever had an actual conversation with him. She resented it. For now, whenever she remembered it, she would remember the reason why...

Dumbledore drew back slightly and adjusted his spectacles, nudging them over the crooked bridge of his nose with a blackened finger. Hannah's gaze strayed to his crippled hand. What had he done, to obtain such a-

"I've arranged for your things to be taken to the gate of the school," said Dumbledore, interrupting her thoughts. Though his words were brisk and professional, his expression was kind and pitying. "I thought it best for you to be with your loved ones for now. You can return to school whenever you wish, but I urge you to take the necessary time, however long you need, to mourn and to cope with the grief."

Numbly, she nodded. In response to her silence, Dumbledore leaned forward again, covering her hand with his own unblemished one. "As of now, before you leave, I encourage you to make your way to the hospital wing. Madam Pompfrey can give you something for the shock, and you'll feel better afterward," he said softly.

Hannah still didn't move, even when he stood up. He gestured to someone behind her and she remembered that Professor Sprout had been the one to rouse her out of bed and lead her here. She heard quick footsteps and then felt Professor Sprout's plump little hand on her shoulder.

"Come along, dear. Let's take you to Madam Pompfrey."

Slowly, Hannah allowed Professor Sprout to bring her to her feet and begin to lead her toward the doorway. Hannah craned her neck to peer back over at Professor Dumbledore. He appeared to be murmuring to the phoenix that was fluttering atop a golden perch near the desk. _I should thank him,_ Hannah thought, _for the kindness._ But she was too dead inside to feel any appreciation. The door closed, and the opportunity was lost.

The only sound as she and Professor Stout ambled down the corridor was the sound of Professor Stout's light footsteps and the quiet squeaks of Hannah's sneakers. Vaguely, she wondered why she'd even thought to put them on. Professor Stout had woken her from sleep, explaining calmly that she needed to meet with Professor Dumbledore immediately, and instead of rushing, Hannah had slowly dressed herself. Perhaps she had sensed that the meeting would be something she would never want to rush to...

When they reached the corridor that went either to the Hufflepuff tower or toward the Hospital Wing, Hannah stopped in her tracks. Professor Stout turned to face her, that same look of kind pity in her eyes that Dumbledore had had.

"Professor..." Hannah cleared her throat when her voice cracked. She felt as if she hadn't used it in forever. "Erm...do you mind if I meet you there later? I want...I want to go back to the common room and say goodbye to my friends..."

Professor Stout nodded, the pity in her eyes practically solidifying. "Take as long as you need, dear."

Hannah watched as Professor Stout strode away, down the dim corridor and out of sight. Had she been in the right state of mind, she would've felt a rush of gratitude for the Head of Hufflepuff House. But as of right now...Hannah wasn't sure if she'd ever be in the right state of mind again.

She took her time as she wandered through the castle. She wasn't going to go back to her house tower. She couldn't face telling her friends what she'd only just been told. That her mother had been killed by You-Know-Who, and would never be back...never again would Hannah return in the summer to laugh with her, smile with her...never again would she see her...

Tears stung her eyes and a lump that was so big it threatened to choke her invaded her throat. She fought it down, willing herself back to the numbness. The numbness was so much easier.

The sun was slowly rising. Walking past the many stained-glass windows, she avoided looking out at the beautiful land. She couldn't take beauty right now. Not when everything in her life had just turned so black and lifeless.

She didn't know where she was going, but she passed several people on the way. Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, looking gaunt and annoyed. Ginny Weasley and Dean Thomos holding hands. Neville Longbottom, who dropped his books when he spotted her, and gave her a sheepish grin that she didn't return. A few people she didn't recognize. And then Luna Lovegood, her nose stuck in the Quibbler as per usual.

Hannah wondered, _how many more people would lose loved ones? _

Something had to be done. With the first rush of emotion she allowed herself to feel- hot anger - Hannah realized that something _must_ be done. No more children could be allowed to lose their loved ones. No more children could be allowed to lose their mothers. _God, her mother._

She pushed it out of her mind again. She wasn't ready to think about it yet. Right now, her mother was safe at home, sitting at the kitchen table, flicking her wand at the dishes so they'd clean themselves-

"Hey, Hannah!"

She started at the sound of her name. She turned to face Hermione Granger. Her hair was pulled back into a bushy tail, her face slightly flushed and sweaty. Puzzled, Hannah frowned at Hermione. What had she been doing?

"Oh, Hannah, good. I was wondering if I could have back those dragon-skin gloves I let you borrow last week. I hadn't thought I needed them since I dropped Care of Magical Creatures, but in Potions we're going to make a- "

"I don't have them anymore," interrupted Hannah, her voice dull.

"Oh." Hermione paused, a crease between her brow as she noted the obvious oddity about Hannah. Something was obviously wrong with her. Hannah knew it must be obvious. She'd already caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror. Her eyes were dark and hollow, bruise-like shadows beneath her eyes, and her skin pale and drained. "Um, Hannah..." said Hermione, clearly uncertain how to go on. "Are you...okay?"

"No," answered Hannah. She didn't know why, but she felt the urge to explain to someone. Strange, as a moment ago she hadn't wanted to tell anyone, ever. "My mum died last night."

Hermione's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "Oh, my- oh, Hannah, I'm so sorry! Was it- was it...?" Hannah nodded. To her surprise, tears brimmed in Hermione's eyes. "Oh, Hannah..." To Hannah's even greater surprise, Hermione flung her arms around her and hugged her tightly. When she drew back, she was shaking her head again and again. "If there's anything I can do, just let me know! Okay?"

Hannah nodded again. "I-I will. Thank you, Hermione."

"You're welcome." Hermione sniffed, and Hannah stood there for a moment until she heard Ron Weasley's voice call out Hermione's name. "Oh, I've got to go. I'm-Hannah-" Looking stricken at the thought that she could find no words to say, Hermione shook her head. "I'm so sorry!" She hurried off down the corridor toward Ron, who stood waiting with Harry Potter beside him.

Hannah stood alone in the corridor for a long time, before the sound of a closing door brought her back to attention. She began to walk again just as Neville Longbottom caught up with her.

"Hi, Hannah. A great day for Quidditch, eh?" he said.

She ignored him. He was always so awkward. Normally it amused her, for she thought it to be slightly adorable. Today...God, today, she just wasn't in the mood.

They reached the corridor leading to the Hospital Wing or to the dungeon classes. She didn't even look at Neville as she muttered, "Bye," and hastened off toward the Wing.

Madam Pompfrey was already waiting for her. "Here you are, dear." As sympathetic as the other professors, Madam Pompfrey handed Hannah a vial of something that looked akin to pumpkin juice. When she tipped it back into her mouth, she discovered it definitely didn't taste similar to pumpkin juice. Gagging slightly, Hannah handed her back the empty vial and sank onto a bed. As Madam Pompfrey went off to dispose of it, the medicine trickled down Hannah's throat to settle cold reality into her heart.

_He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had killed her mother. He had murdered her in her bed, hadn't even given her a chance to fight back. Had stolen the very breath from her lungs._

Fury coursed through Hannah. _Someone needed to stop him._

_She_ would be that someone.

She stood up from the bed. She wasn't about to go home now. She was going to avenge her mother. But she would have to be discreet. No one could know or try to stop her.

Either way, Voldemort was going down.

And she would be the one to take him there.


End file.
